


Oh, I Just Can't WAIT to be King!

by AndeliaMaddock



Series: Crowley Collections [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hell, King of Hell, M/M, Puppies, Violence, Whipping, heartwarming end, non-con, suggestions of relationships, underage lilith vessel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndeliaMaddock/pseuds/AndeliaMaddock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley made it to the top over the bodies of his enemies and all potential rivals.</p>
<p>But he wasn't always the top dog in Hell. </p>
<p>So how did he get treated by superiors before he ascended to King of the whole damned thing? Not so well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All things must Begin

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the prompt  
> 99\. in the beginning  
> of y-gallery's 100 sexual themes challenge.
> 
> This chapter contains Alistair and implied Crowley/Alistair.

He recalls it with vivid details every now and then. Of course, he never intends to drift into that line of thought, but his control only lasts so long and he slips back. He imagines that other demons have similar issues, but he doesn't know. Pride, or maybe arrogance, keeps him from asking.

 

"You know, a clever man such as the one you were, you would think you'd have given your soul for more than a few inches." The slender demon tapped along a clean metal tray until he came upon a straight razor. He smiled and nodded. Thin fingers lifted the instrument and examined it in the too-bright light. "I think this will do nicely," the soft voice rasped. "Don't you?" He turned to his victim.

Fergus MacLeod didn't understand it. Well, no, he did. But he couldn't comprehend it. Hellfire and brimstone and so much more pain than he could ever have understood as a human. Every day, every night, every instant, he felt so much weight bearing down on his soul.

His torturer sighed and shook his head at a slow disappointed rate. "Fer-gus, I did ask you a question. Please, pay more attention. Focus!"

Bony fingers pressed the sharp razor to his throat. This time, he knew that wasn't a question meant unanswered. Fergus inhaled slowly, "Yes, it should do nicely." His tattered soul didn’t need to breath, but he felt it calm him.

That smile punished and promised reward all at the same time.

So many things did, here in Hell. Behave poorly to a superior, be punished more severely. Say what needed said, receive a slighter level of pain. Acquiescence allowed descension into demonhood, which allowed ascension among the ranks if you were clever. Fergus had seen that.

The razor slipped easily through the first few layers of skin along his shoulder blade. Precise movement took off an exact amount of skin on each stroke.

Though he screamed, he did not struggle. Fergus did not shift and did not truly fight. He gave in. Pain he allowed. He accepted the sheer gripping agony. Because he knew. He had seen others become demons, had followed the patterns of how it worked. How they changed.

Fergus wasn't a quivering town idiot. He wanted that. Demons were treated, oddly, better than the souls to be tortured. Souls were amusement. Demons had roles.

The razor moved to the other shoulder now. Alistair liked symmetry. He liked to make art with his souls. Between strokes, the blood was cleaned away with a wet cloth.

"Do you know why I clean my blade so often?"

Fergus opened his eyes and took in the demon's calm demeanor. Always so calm. "I haven't a clue, S-sir."

That brought another smile. "Well, as a tailor likes to make sure his work looks neat, tidy, so do I. And you do know what they say, don't you?" The razor continued on its path of evenness.

Fergus grit his teeth and keened. Please. He only dared not reply for the few seconds it took to catch a deep breath. "I am quite sure I don't."

"Really now? Then you don't know cleanliness is next to Godliness?" The laugh was soft and it trembled on the way out. Everything was so peculiar with his torturer. 

He couldn't force his cracked voice and dry throat to laugh, though that might get him points with his torturer. Agreeing with him, not fighting, that all helped.

"No? Mmm. Perhaps that joke was a bit ahead of its time. Ah well." He took another wet rag from a tub near the metal instrument tray. “I’m certainly not one for comedy. My artform is much sweeter I think.”

Fergus heard the sloshing about of the old rag going into the dirty water bin.

"You know what makes me different from other demons?"

"You have white eyes?" He did have a guess on that. He'd seen those eyes flash. Unfortunately, that was usually not a good sign.

"Well, yes. In addition to that." A gentle cloth wiped blood away from Fergus' nude body. "Do you know the secret?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Oh, don't be afraid of ignorance or questions. They lead on step closer to knowledge, after all." Alistair beamed down. "You're clever. You like to learn. You'll go far with that attitude. But I digress. Fergus, what makes me different, is, well. I don't hate. Not you, not those beneath me, not those above. This isn't about hate. It's about art. I'm an artist, and you are my gorgeous canvas. Someday, perhaps, you'll even be a pupil." The face, with taut skin and skeletal lines so clear under it, moved right above Fergus'.

"Perhaps someday soon?"

"Ahaha. Soon? But I rather enjoy making you beautiful beneath the blade. I suppose you are in a hurry to become the artist that suits your talents though, aren't you?"

Truth be told, no. He didn't see it as an art. Not even remotely. But this was that offer, or close enough, that he'd heard made to the others before they turned. "I am. I think I could really make a difference down here."

"Oh, I have no doubt." Alistair pressed an almost chaste kiss to Fergus' lips, then stroked down his bare chest. "I've been ignoring here. That just won't do."

Damn. He shut his eyes and nodded. No, it wouldn't do. Lord only knew Alistair couldn't leave his chest alone during this torture session. That would be uncouth, or some such nonsense. No doubt, he’d go lower. No mercy for the wicked.

He grit his teeth again when the cuts started, but he couldn't help it. The flaying got the better of him most of the time and this was no different. "Please! Alistair! Please!" He couldn't. He couldn't pretend it didn't hurt, couldn't not fight, he was breaking here! Why couldn't he do it right? He'd seen the ways they did it, how come he couldn't?

"Please?"

"I don't want to be like this."

"Are you letting go? So soon? I must say, that both pleases and surprises. You want to change?"

"I want to."

"It's a goal?"

"It's a goal."

"You'll be my pupil?"

"I'll do it. I'll do it all. Just please. Alistair. Teach me, I can't take it."

"That's a shame. I can't be the one to turn you. You do that yourself. And I don't think you've learned enough under the blade yet to be skilled above it."

He sobbed. Openly. Blindly. The bright light and tears made Alistair's figure so blurry, but he saw the form moving. Watched it clean and take care of instruments, before making another selection. "And as much as I have hopes for taking you on as a pupil, bright as you are..."

Another reason he couldn't. Another reason he was a failure in this one goal he had. Just like he’d been a failure in life. A no one. Nothing.

"I'm afraid you never would find torture an artform. I like you, but I know you. And I am an artist. It's not just a tool, Fergus. It's beauty in pain. No... I'm afraid another occupation would be more suited for you."

"What, a servant?" Those pathetic no-mind demons? He didn't want to be nothing but fodder. He had plans, damn it! He had aspirations! If he couldn't be much in life, by Lucifer, he would be in death!

"Of course not! Not the regular sort anyway. I wouldn't take an interest if you weren't exquisite. I thought you knew that. No, Fergus, you mustn't see my torture as without meaning."

What meaning? He shut his eyes again. He dared not look at the tool those hands selected this time.

"You see, during our sessions, our talks, I get to know you more intimately than anyone ever will again. Ever. I know you. I feel everything you feel."

That was highly doubtful.

"I'd like to keep you and train you further, but you're so much better suited talking. Working with others. I've seen it, when you get put in your cell. You can charm everyone. I like that, but it's not for this line of work, not if you don't find yourself suited to it to begin with."

He would scream his organs out if Alistair didn't get on with it. "Please, just tell me. Tell me how."

"I'm thinking... Sales."

That was definitely a dagger gliding over his stomach, which fluttered rapidly for a few moments before he willed it to relax. Relaxing meant the pain was less and the knife didn't usually cut as deep with this demon to guide it.

"Have you considered that field?"

"I didn't realize I could."

"Oh, yes. Why, if you did happen to turn, and soon, I happen to know of a very intelligent trainer I could send you to. She's looking for a good salesman. I think you could be the demon for the job."

Fergus blinked tears away and finally managed to look up and see the other. "Is that so?"

"Oh, very much so." White eyes flashed. “Though, it’s quite a painful process. Quite. The painful process.”

“Please.”

“If you,” Alistair sliced against Fergus’ flaccid length, “insist.”

~~--~~

He didn't hate Alistair. He never had. Even on his worst days and nights, Alistair wasn't malicious. Not to him, at least. Certainly, he'd heard other souls screeching obscenities, begging with fear and pain. Not talking, just fighting. Even with those ones, Alistair was always calm.

Crowley never had hated Alistair, and Alistair had never hated him. In fact, if he were to thank any one demon, any demon at all, he'd thank Alistair. Often, actually, he had. The position didn't have to go to Crowley, and the white-eyed demon didn't have to reveal a quicker way to get to his goal. He could be a grunt right now, barely thinking, eyes unblinking and inky black.

No, in fact, quite the opposite of hate, of all the demons he had a bit of fondness for his torturer from way back. Even the times he'd slipped up and not quite made sales, Alistair had been the one to... correct him. He actually appreciated it. The demon taught him so many things he might not otherwise ever learn.

It was more than a shame, really, that Sam had blown him to bits.

But he wouldn't mourn. Just another demon out of the way in his ascension through the ranks. Azazel. Alistair. Someday Lilith. And he hoped, he really hoped, that Lucifer never made it onto the table. But that would be taken care of too, should the time come.

Being King of Crossroads was high, certainly, but he was a demon with goals. With aspirations. Nobody and nothing would stop him from getting there. Eventually Alistair would have had to die anyway, just so Crowley could be certain he wouldn't try to fight the new world order planned.

He glanced in the mirror and straightened his tie. Another day, another soul to acquire. Crowley showed his most charming smile, nodded to the mirror, and answered the Crossroads Call.


	2. Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azazel and his daughter (soon to be in Meg Masters) don't believe that Crowley's heart is really in the right place.
> 
> So they are going to put it there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to the prompt  
> 85\. Rivalry  
> of y-gallery's 100 sexual themes challenge.

His superiors notice him more now. Promotions come for him as quickly as the souls do. He’s come a long way from being a low-ranking salesman. 

Being that he’s not a fool, he doesn't confess as to how he has knowledge of certain spells, certain sigils, and a certain Enochian language that most demons could never even come close to understanding the finer intricacies of. Then again, they are generally pleased with his work, and don't care much where the knowledge comes from, as long as he doesn't get angels cracking down on him.

He got angels going down on him in other ways, truth be told. It’s the innocent, the incorruptible, the high and mighty ones he enjoys bringing down the most. Nothing’s better. 

But she notices him, even though he hasn’t made any mistakes. She always just looks at him.

Crowley would even say she hates him, from the souls he collects, to the way he chooses to spend his free-time not destroying every mortal he comes in contact with. He could be doing nothing, and that would be one thing too much for her.

Today the black-eyed bitch glared a bit too long. He moved directly beside her and pinned her roughly to the stony wall. "I wish you'd tell me what your problem is."

"My problem is you. You're not true to our cause."

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

"You don't really believe in Lucifer, do you? That he's our savior. I see the way you are, the way you roll your filthy eyes. You're only in this for yourself. There are roaches I’d rather work with."

"I do my job, sweetheart, that's all anybody can ask of me. And no one makes you work with me. We’re in different departments."

"Father could ask a whole lot more. You know it and I do."

"What, are you going to tell on me to Daddy?” He snickered and ground against her body. “You have no proof I don't believe. Because, obviously, I do. You can't get as high up as I have without believing."

"You're sneaky. You could."

Crowley had to smirk at that. Yes. He could. He pressed both wrists above her head and leaned in to bite at her. A moment later, he shifted just a bit to whisper in her ear. "I'm injured. Really. I thought we understood each other better than this." He shifted one leg up between hers and rubbed hard. "I suppose not though. Perhaps I'll have to make it clear to you, Whore."

The look of satisfaction in her eyes, coupled with the increase in temperature behind him, clued him in. Bitch set him up.

He licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder to the general. "Azazel. Fancy seeing you down here. I thought you were on a mission. Big stuff happening. Exciting stuff, isn't it?"

Yellow eyes focused on him.

Crowley sighed, pulled from the general's daughter, and brushed himself off. Nothing about this would be pleasant, but he had no choice but submit. Someday though... "I suppose you heard all that?"

"I kind of hope it's not true. Personally, I don't want to upset Lilith and destroy her highest ranking salesman, but it's just incredibly disheartening. You. Not being true to the cause? I never saw it coming." He grinned and pressed Crowley against the wall. "But I'm sure I can help you see the error in your ways."

The bitch smirked.

Crowley eyed her, then returned a slightly meek gaze to Azazel's. "Of course, Sir. Whatever you think is best. Though, I can assure you, I do believe. I just don't focus so strongly on the cause because I'm working so hard to help build your army's ranks. After all. You do need the black-eyed grunts in your plans, don't you? "

She grunted. "Racist."

"I hardly meant it that way."

Azazel laughed. "Children, children, settle down." Fingers turned to claws and dug into his flesh and bones. "Why don't you come with me, Crowley? Lots of things to discuss. Like your part in all this." White teeth flashed a grin that Crowley never liked to see from the tyrant king.

Crowley pushed back the fear and composed himself with a heavy swallow and nod. "Yes, of course."

The daughter turned to follow, but Azazel removed one hand from Crowley and waved for her to move back. "Just us boys, dear. Don't worry, I'm sure you two will have all the alone time you need soon enough. But I've got plans."

Insulting, humiliating, and threatening with a smile. Azazel really was the full demon package. Dead shame those attentions were set on him at the moment.

Azazel lead him to his private office, smiling all the way in that smug bastard self-satisfied way he had.

Crowley wasn't a simpering idiot. He was going to be broken into at least a little, probably a lot, by their unholy leader. Probably he’d find himself demoted, despite his excellent sales and abilities. Loyalists were the only ones who made it very far. Well, if , he was racist, the rest of them? They were bigoted against his religious affiliations! Not that he could say it. That would only tighten the metaphorical noose.

The general nodded at a leather chair situated across from his desk, then moved to seat himself at his leather throne. "Now, Crowley, my daughter has become very concerned that you're not true to the cause. My cause. The real deal. I can't help but think, bright young fellow like you, with a thinking cap tight on his noggin, that you'd just need proof. I could just beat it into you. Make an example out of a non-believer. But where would that get us?"

"Nowhere, I imagine."

"Exactly! See, there's that thinking cap. Really, genius the way you've been climbing. Lots of demons are jealous. So here's the deal, and I know you're fond of those, I'm going to give you a chance to see proof. See reasons for this great big plan Lucifer cooked up for us all. For me and mine. And you're going to give your best to the cause."

"I'm sensing and ‘or’ there..."

"Or, I make just the biggest example out of your non-believing filthy dirty soul and every demon around either turns into a believer just like that, or they pretend because they're afraid. Fear is a powerful motivator, don't you think?"

"Of course. It really is."

"So, have I made a believer out of you? Do you feel the proof?" Azazel tilted his eyes and grinned wide. "Come on, let's hear a Hallelujah for Daddy rising from the pit."

"Hallelujah. May he rise quick and bring us all to glory." He tried. He really tried to keep the sarcasm out. But even though he kept his tone even, he knew it betrayed him when it came right down to it. 

"I'd work on the battlecry, champ." Azazel stood and slowly strode back to Crowley. He pat Crowley on a shoulder and shook him just a bit. Fingers dug into flesh once more, and the demon leaned in. Hushed, he said, "Because if I don't believe that you believe, the next time I summon you here, I'll show you things Alistair never would. Got it?"

"You're quite clear, Sir."

"Perfect. Now go on and get 'em. We do need those souls, after all. Big fights coming up. Big wins." The general pushed him lightly towards the door. "I'm counting on you."

"I won't let you down."

"I hope, for your sake. I like you. But even your hot sales won’t keep you safe next time. I’d rather believers with less sales than non-believers who get their pretty picture up on the Employee of the Month wall each month It’s about synergy! A common goal. Don’t slow the group down.” There were those sharp teeth, flashing in the firelight. 

He didn't even try to get the last word in. Crowley nodded solemnly to the general on his way out, then stalked down the hall.

Bitch set him up, and her bastard father would knock him down if he didn't play better. Well fine. Crowley hadn't advanced this far without being clever. He'd act, and they would believe it. They would have the perfect little Loyalist King of the Crossroads. He'd even get a devil's trident. Start wearing that sometimes.

To Azazel, the daughter, and his Special Little Nitwit children he said, to Hell with them.

But he'd be Loyal. He'd be strong and smart and see the proof. Proof that Azazel was a tyrant and lunatic, but that was enough proof to keep him in line for now.


	3. Whip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilith likes to play.
> 
> Crowley is her game.
> 
> He better play nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to the prompt  
> 9\. Whip   
> Of Y-gallery's 100 sexual themes challenge
> 
> There is implied non-con/dub-con against Crowley in the end, as well as implied underage sex (Lilith likes to be in little girls.) read at own risk.

Lilith wasn't pleased with him.

Had he even done anything? Crowley would say no, no he hadn't.

Then again, it turned out that was the reason. Apparently he was to stop the Winchesters (and risk his own precious neck) from advancing things along as quickly as they were.

So here they were. A little girl with white eyes and a smile that didn't betray what she had planned as much as past experience with her did. She sat down on his lap and reached up. One pale hand stroked at his face and she chuckled, deep, like a truly happy little child.

Unpleasant. It would all be unpleasant.

"Crowley, the Winchesters are ruining plans. You're letting them ruin them. Haven't we talked about this?"

"Yes, I suppose we have." He leaned back in the chair and looked straight ahead.

The bitch liked being a little girl, and he hated it when the form of a little fricking girl punished him. But he would be a good right-hand man, and he'd take it and strive to do better. Until the bitch was ultimately dead. 

"Then how come you're letting me down?"

He sucked in just a tiny amount of bottom lip, then released and let out a drawled, "Because I just haven't learned better yet." Here it was. The bottom line. She liked honesty, and she liked humbleness. It was humiliating. But that was the point.

She wouldn't kill him. Not here. Not yet.

"Someone should teach you then, shouldn't they?"

"Yes, I believe they should." He didn't dare look at those eyes directly. He knew where they would be focused and that would make him falter. But he caught a glimpse of them.

She looked from his face, where her hand still stroked one cheek, to the wardrobe nearby. Then back to him. An easy smile spread over her pale features and she leaned up. "And who should teach you the lesson to not disappoint me so very very much, Crowley?"

He was going to dance over her bones. Sing a jolly tune, yes, he'd do it all when she died. "I believe that should be you." Crowley smiled down at her. So small, but so much higher than him, and frankly? That was insulting.

"Mmmm. I think you're right!" Chipper, she scooted off his lap and moved to the wardrobe. "But what should I do with you?"

Not the whip. He hated the whip. Pick the bloody knife, he took that a lot better. At least he could tell where the marks were going most of the time, even blindfolded.

"I think I'll use this!" She pulled out the whip.

Well alright then. Crowley nodded. "Excellent choice, Lilith."

She smirked at him and snapped it in the air above them. The sharp crack brought a full on grin. "Undress. I know how you like to keep your clothes nice and not in tatters."

He'd prefer to keep his skin nice and not in tatters, but he stood and began to unbutton for her. His wishes weren't important. She wanted to get off. She wanted to punish. Obviously he was the scapegoat for the problems their kind faced today.

"You're letting things slip, Crowley." She moved behind him when he let the shirt and pants drop to the floor.

Crowley glanced back at her and swallowed heavily. "Apologies, Lilith."

"Apologies don't fix anything." A pout and a stomp. "Now, bend over. Spare the rod, spoil the Crowley, after all!"

Crowley nodded and acquiesced to the little bitch. Fingers gripped the posts at the foot of the bed, half to help keep himself steady, half so he didn’t strangle the demon’s vessel. Some fantasies he just couldn’t enjoy right then.

Such a tiny body. Lilith couldn't get the best angle up further on his back, so he could discount-- Shit! Bloody hell! Crowley inhaled deeply through his nose and let the breath back out through his mouth. Too quick though, she hit again, again, again. He didn't have time to calm down, didn't have time to make himself keep the tears of pain in. The screams tore from his throat and burned his ears.

She slowed down, took her time now. Picked spot after spot, with a minute or so in between with the childlike form and a soft voice that reverberated around him with sharp scolds.

He would pick apart her vessel's body when she was finally dead. He'd ruin her. But for now, he behaved like a good little toy soldier and counted the bloody marks.

"Twenty!" But no, she did three more, or was it four, just as quick as he caught his breath to say that number. By the time he was at "twenty-three!" She had hit him at least three more times.

"Start over!"

The count was apparently incorrect when he went to "twenty-eight!" or perhaps she was just in a more vicious mood than usual.

Crowley shut his eyes, gripped the posts until his fingers were whiter, and started the count once more. He'd be without skin on his entire back of his body by the end of this. Already, blood streamed down in crimson rivulets down his body. But he kept counting, he took it like a damn man. 

He lost count, or was lied to on it, a total of five times. Or was it six? He couldn't even keep track of the big ones anymore, his mind stayed on the one track. Count. Each. Hit. Out loud!

"Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes I have, oh I have." He felt his sweaty grip on the bedposts slipping, but he knew from seeing examples that you never collapsed before she was finished. He had managed to become her right-hand man by learning from the mistakes of others.

"Do you want me to forgive you?"

"Yes, please, yes."

"Alright. Lay down and we'll talk it all over." She cleaned the whip off on the bedspread, then turned back to the wardrobe to put it away.

Crowley shut his eyes and crawled into bed, on his stomach.

"You're like a snake. A pathetic little writhing snake. But you know, He caught them all as a snake, so maybe that's forgivable. You're a bit pudgy to be a very good evil snake though." She moved beside him on the bed and leaned over to pat his backside.

He would find a pretty and perfect little girl who looked just like this vessel, and soon. That girl would learn the power of the whip and how quickly it could make even the most hardened demon quiver and tremble. She would likely only be able to count to a few.

"Crowley?"

"Yes, Lilith?" The shake in his voice had almost left, thank Hell.

"What are you thinking about?"

He'd tie her down and take her over and over again. He wasn't one for torture most of the time, but there were always exceptions. There were always things he wanted to do to those who crossed him, or who happened to look like those who had crossed him, or who were convenient when he was displeased.

"I'm thinking about how to best please you and keep the Winchesters from ruining your plans."

"Very good. Keep thinking about that, and you might even stay my favorite pudgy little demon." She leaned in and hugged him tight. Blood spread over her white dress and the cotton ground into his bloody back. Lilith smooshed her face against Crowley’s and pressed a kiss to him. Tiny fingers stroked along his sides.

"I'd like that ." And he'd call the girl Lilith. He didn't care the name, or how quickly she passed on, he'd call her Lilith and make her pay. Because Heaven and Hell knew he wouldn't be able to personally do that to Lilith and last very long.

But there were always substitutions to be made when you couldn't quite have what you wanted. Crowley would be satisfied.

Lilith kissed him more insistently and rolled him onto his back. Small hands ripped her dress up over her head and tossed it away with a little smirk. “You were punished. Now it’s playtime again.”

Playtime. Like a little bloody Raggedy doll. But then, she didn’t think much more of him than that, did she?

“Of course, Mistress. Let’s play.”


	4. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer doesn't appreciate Crowley's efforts to overthrow the current demonic hierarchy. 
> 
> Crowley is one hundred percent done being every Meg, Azazel, and Lilith's bitch. Not that he would ever be able to defeat Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written (loosely) to the prompt  
> 81\. Blood  
> of y-gallery's 100 sexual challenges theme

He isn't one to show fear. When he does admit, perhaps someone has one over him, he presents it as simple facts. Sometimes, if another lives, those they oppose die. So if anyone in power opposes him, they must die. That was all it was about, really. Survival. It wasn’t fear.

This is what he explains it as when he speaks to the Winchesters about Lucifer.

He does not show fear, he does not tremble. If anything, he gets angry at their usual stupidity and arrogance and sends them on their way.

But Crowley does feel fear.. It goes right deep down to his guilty filthy soul. He is not as cowardly and spineless as a great many of his demon peers and underlings are, but he does know that sensation. It drips down his spine and fills in all the cracks and holes where his soul has long been shriveled and all but dead. He feels it in the darkness and in the light. Lucifer knows. Like Azazel and Lilith knew, so does the great angel.

Though he warned them not to miss, it did not matter. It didn't even come close to mattering, because apparently Lucifer is one of the five creatures in all of creation that doesn't die with a bullet from the damn colt.

The fear solidifies in his stomach and he turns from his chair to face it. Face the fear.

Lucifer smiles at him. What this vessel's name again? Nick? Yes, Nick. Nick is peeling and burning up from the inside, and that only adds to the twisted fear in Crowley.

But always one to be composed, or so he likes to pretend, he simply nods. "Would you care for a drink? Craig, aged 45 years. Very good quality." He lifts the nearly full bottle and thrusts it a bit towards his guest.

The smile haunts like hundreds of years of torture in Hell could never begin to. He doesn’t say anything, though Crowley waits several seconds.

Crowley nods again. "Well, if you change your mind, don't hesitate to--"

"I would take a drink, yes." Lucifer smiles wider and moves to sit on the desk beside Crowley's leather chair. He shrugs and takes a sip when it is offered. "You know, for a treacherous demon who is on the run, trying to hide from all of my many, many forces, you still manage to find nice places to live. Though, for someone used to what you're used to, the comfort's you're used to, I don't think that this is very nice for you. You're used to cushier, aren't you?"

Afraid and insulted, though Lucifer isn't wrong. Crowley smiles slightly and offers another drink. "No, I'm not quite living in a hovel, but it's not what I prefer."

Lucifer accepts it and hums a soft little haunting tune while tracing the rim of the glass. "It burns going down. You know, I was trapped in the pit for so long, and I come back and there are all these magnificent things, I mean really. Humanity has so many ugly glaring flaws, you all do, but this?" He glanced back to Crowley and downed the rest of it. "Well, it really warms my heart. You know, it's a little known fact, but I actually am quite cold. Everyone thinks it's Hellfire and Brimstone, but the facts are, I'm not hot at all."

Crowley shrugged. "Misinformation and time, it's funny how that contributes to rumors."

"Yes, it is. Though, it's not misinformation that Bella gave you the Colt in that trade before, is it?"

Crowley took a sip of his own very slowly draining glass. "Hardly misinformation."

"Mm. Then, you gave Sam and Dean the Colt, or they stole it? Either you're a treacherous traitor, a trait that would be quite damning for you, or you're an incompetent demon and still very much so going to regret meeting me."

"Is that so? Just one or the other?"

"Pick one."

Icy cracks form on the crystal glass Lucifer holds. They spread slowly, but they form all over the entire thing. Crowley can’t look away.

"Well, I suppose if I'm to pick one," Crowley furrowed his brows and took a slow sip of his own glass, then rolled the last few drops around in the bottom and studied them. "I suppose I would say I'm a traitor."

"I'm going to make every drop of blood in your body turn to acid. And keep you alive forever, or until I tire of your presence in this universe." Lucifer stood now and clapped an almost gentle hand on Crowley's thick shoulder. "I hope you understand, I really don't want to do this. But it's quite necessary to make examples out of dissenters."

"Yes, I believe that's what happened to you, isn't it?" Crowley leaned into the touch. "Dissented from Heaven, tossed into the pit. Not so different, you and I. And just as you don't kill so easily, I think you'll find I'm much the same."

"Oh?" That smile was back.

Crowley tightened his resolve. "I can't kill you myself, oh no. But you know what I am in addition to being a traitor to your agenda?"

"What's that?"

"I'm pyrokinetic."

"And I suppose you'll burn me?" There was a flicker of amusement behind the contempt.

Crowley laughed. "Well, as you say, it burns going down. Especially with Holy Oil added to the whole bottle." He tugged Lucifer down into a fiery kiss. He withdrew a moment later with a smirk. 

Lucifer's screams and promises of bleeding him dry, well, they were gone soon enough. The fear they reignited in the formerly composed Crowley? Just enough to keep him still a few seconds before he fled to another hiding place.

He only hoped the bloody Winchesters managed to put the damned angel back in The Pit before Lucifer found him again, because he had every doubt in God's Green Earth that the angel would have any sort of mercy. Then again, the brats had managed to kill all his other enemies and competition, so why should he assume they wouldn't now?

He knew which team he cheered for right then, and it wasn't the damn Loyalist side.


	5. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's top dog.
> 
> Pretty much literally. Growly and pups don't mind though. They just like to have his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to the prompt  
> 41\. Alone  
> of Y-gallery's 100 sexual themes challenge  
> Not sexual, just, you know, inspired by the word.

41\. Alone

Then there was one. He laughed and shook his head at it all. If he wasn’t the one who’d made it in the end, he wouldn’t believe the whole thing.

Crowley lay back in his bed and idly pet through Growly’s soft fur. He stroked along her flank and just stared up at the French molding. “Should send the bloody idiots a thank you card. Nothing brought me up so quick as their shenanigans in this whole mess. Then again,” he glanced down at Growly, “I’m probably next on their list.”

Which was more than a little bit of the reason he wouldn’t give back Bobby’s soul. Where would that put him in the whole grand scheme of things? Dead. Worse than at the bottom. 

No, no, he had to keep that soul. “They have their hands full with other things anyway. We’ll just keep it that way. Really work them over. That’s the difference between me and them. I know the Winchesters have it in them to do anything. So I just have to always have the bigger threat to them someone who isn’t me. That’s all.” 

Eventually he’d take them out too. Soon, probably. He personally didn’t have many threats, with all of Hell following his orders and most demons far less powerful than he was.

Growly nuzzled closer and nipped at his neck.

He snorted and pat her a bit harder. “Now now. Daddy doesn’t want to have too kick you out of bed.”

Three little puppies bounded in and jumped up onto the bed and piled up over his chest and neck. Their yips brought more puppies on through the door and they just had to follow suit.

He would never get the thick fur out of his Turkish robe.

Crowley laughed and tossed them to the side a bit, then rolled over them, “Oh, you’re in a playful mood is it? Ohhh, don’t you get me started!”

They gnashed teeth and jumped up. Tiny barks sounded with each jump and attempt to bite at his robe. 

He pulled them all up into his arms and pressed them against their mother. “Thought I told you to keep them off the bed. This isn’t a hotel. This is my room, and my bed.”

Growly huffed and rolled onto her side. The pups immediately moved to start nursing.

Maybe he wasn’t as alone as all that. Growly and hers weren’t competition. Yes. He would keep these companions. Because as nice as it was to be alone most of the time, he quite dreaded being lonely. 

Crowley reached out and pet the rambunctious little ones. “We’re going to rule the whole lot of it, Growly. You, me, and the kids.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to stay away from more fluff and Growly, but you know what? Screw that. Growly and pups are adorable and she sasses him non-verbally and he lets her in my mind and I love it.
> 
> <3


End file.
